Nevermore
by Lyaksandra
Summary: Never again will she be belittled. It is time to show them how she really is much much more than they can see.
1. Chapter 1

There it is again. That sound. Make no mistake; it's the nefarious giggles of Riley Dawson.

I clench my teeth trying to choke my anger. It does nothing. The cinderblocks of the endoskeleton disposal pit crumble like cookies when I slam my fist on them. Release still eludes me.

Something. I have to do something. Anything!

I leave the tool-shed and make my way to the house. Stomping up the stairs, I head straight for John's room, opening the door without knocking.

The gall! Riley Dawson and John Connor are both lying on the bed, in a snuggling fashion. The only thing reassuring me that my eyes aren't bugging out of my face, is the fact that for reasons unfathomable to me, future John Connor commanded that I kept a _stone face_ at all times.

"What the hell are you doing Cameron?" John yells, fury in his voice, and disdain on his face. "Don't you ever knock?"

His stare isn't budging at all from my eyes. He expects an answer, or at least that I leave his room. My attention though, is fixed on something else. Their hair. Both of them. It's ruffled! He dares! Making out in the middle of the day, in my face!

John frowns at me, and sighs waving his hand in dismissal. "Could you give us some privacy?"

"Yeah," Riley chimes in, "go play in your room."

At that, they both giggle.

That's it, that's the last straw. Not only does he treat me like garbage, but allows her to join in, and then supports her!

Something snaps in me. So very similar to the time when I attempted to terminate him.

I do my utmost to hide my anger, but the squinting of my eyes and the pursing of my lips had been completely out of my hands by then.

In a huff, I storm out of the room, and go to mine. John Connor shall taste my revenge. Being tasked with his safety, I couldn't just terminate him back there, but I can certainly show him the horrors that lurk this world, beyond the juvenile grasp of his mind.

Opening my closet, I look for the shortest skirt and the tightest shirt in my wardrobe. Combat boots and thigh-high stockings will complement the attire, and foregoing the usage of a bra will be the cherry to top it.

Donning my new war uniform, I await for them to go downstairs, lie on the couch, and start their evening TV viewing; just as they do every time Riley comes to the house.

I hear steps on the stairs and know that my time has come. After leaving my room, I make my way to the living room. If I had viscera, it would twist at the sight. The both of them sitting on the couch, John's arm across Riley's back, holding her shoulder. The two smiling, as if nothing is wrong with the world. Well, they are together, so everything is wrong with the world, too bad they can't see it. I grit my teeth in an attempt to release some anger. It doesn't help much.

I plaster my face with the best fake smile I have, and move towards them.

"Hey John, what are you guys watching?"

My voice is so jolly, and my smile so big, that the two of them stare at me surprised, unable to say anything. There is something else though, in John's gaze specifically. That was my goal all along, and my reward shines through the lustful and nervous scan he gives to my body.

The window of opportunity is now open. I jump on the couch beside John, resting my legs on his lap, and my feet on Riley's.

John turns to look at the blonde, making a face. Then he turns back to me with a deep frown. He opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him with a friendly hit on his shoulder.

"Wow man, chill out. You're starting to look like mom."

Again, he turns to look at Riley, and to my delight, the matter appears to be settled. I take this chance to distract them entirely from the issue, and steal the remote.

"So, what do you guys want to watch?" I ask, trying to make my voice innocent and friendly, which from now on will be the most common tone out of my mouth. Maybe I am oblivious to the many language subtleties humans use, like sarcasm. The other side of this though, being that I could be plotting their demise this very moment, and they wouldn't have a hint. The advantage of being able to modulate perfectly your voice and facial expression with no regard to your true thoughts.

"Whatever," they voice in unison. Oh, how I hate you right now John Connor.

I smile at the couple.

We watch TV for about one hour, and in the course of it, I shift the position of my legs periodically. I make a point of letting John catch a glance at my panties every time. Each time I do, he nervously turns to Riley, and nervously spits some nonsense. When he does that, I show off my smile and play with the hair on his nape, which elicits some more nervous antics from him.

It's a good thing that Derek and Sarah are going out almost every afternoon to pursue Skynet leads –specifically the three dots that consume Sarah's days and nights. This will provide John with the opportunity to try snogging with Riley, and me with the time to put my countermeasures in action. The overprotective mother and the loyalist soldier would surely try to melt me if they were to see me right now.

"Let's get some takeout food," John suddenly speaks, turning at Riley, and dismissively gesturing for me to remove my legs. I give him my patented cat smile and comply, once again making a point of letting him steal a look at my panties. The thought that all this alternation of blood flow to his head could be dangerous crosses my mind. A quick check of my medical files shows nothing related, so I immediately dismiss the idea.

In the end, Chinese food is decided upon, and John proceeds to order two servings. Of course leaving out the machine that does not and should not eat. I wonder if they ever consider that not needing and not enjoying are in fact, not mutually inclusive. In any case, the last laugh will be mine.

I leave the couch and go to the kitchen. A quick scan of the fridge reveals appropriate ingredients to prepare some cordon blue chicken breast. Doing the math to turn the recipe into a single serving, I commence preparation.

Since John now ignored me most of the time, and I don't require sleep, I have been absorbing information at geometrical rates. My cuisine has expanded considerably, and if the human inhabitants of the house would just allow me, they could stop eating those atrocities they call _food_.

Also with all my newfound free time, I start to feel some anticipation about the next Terminator attack. I want to put in practice that gun-kata I saw in a movie. I dedicated many hours extrapolating it into real life application.

The noise from the grill attracts a visitor into the kitchen. John.

"What are you doing?" He asks, voice laced with curiosity and some anger. It's similar to his _don't be a freak_ tone.

"I'm making some dinner for myself." I reply, turning to look at him over my shoulder. I beam a smile and shrug a little. "Since you didn't bother buying takeout for me." This is called a _guilt trip_.

John is about to say something, but in that moment Riley also walks into the kitchen. For the first time in the day, I feel glad that she's here. She interrupts just in time before the conversation can escalate into a discussion.

"Wow, what's that smell?" She enthusiastically inquires.

John rolls his eyes. "My sister is cooking something to eat, since her evil brother didn't get her anything."

Riley gives me a look I can't identify. It's as if she has seen something extremely unusual. A quick scan of my status reveals that everything should be perfect with my appearance, so I dismiss it. I attribute her surprise to the fact that John is always demonizing me in her eyes. She obviously finds it strange that John's crazy sister could cook something that smells so good.

Surrounding her waist with his arm, John guides Riley back into the living room. He gives me one last angry glare –which I answer with a smile- as he gets out of sight. Apparently, John is not very fond of his upper extremities.

I go back to my cooking, and by the time the Chinese food arrives, my chicken breast is done.

We all converge back on the couch in front of the TV to consume our foodstuffs. During dinner, I make sure to allow a suggestive moan escape my lips with every other bite I take. This brings the desired attention towards my food's taste, and stirs John's imagination. I catch John and Riley stealing looks at my plate from time to time, and John becomes fidgety and flushed after each time I make my _after-bite_ show.

With the meal done, we place our utensils on the floor and watch more TV. John tries to give me some _signals_ for me to leave him and Riley alone, but I ignore him. If he wants to make out, either he will have to say it clearly out loud, shaming himself in front of the other female, or give up the notion of doing it in the living room entirely. If he dares go up to his room, I will continuously interrupt them.

Fortunately, it never gets to that point. For some reason, when I am in proximity to her, Riley sometimes complies with my desires. Maybe she believes John in those occasions he tells her I am mentally unstable, and is afraid of incurring my anger. That thought is also filed away without much review. Right now, I am content with whatever floats my boat.

One more hour passes uneventfully.

I hear the sound of gravel outside of the house and know that Derek and Sarah have returned. Swiftly and with a small jump, I get on my feet.

"Mom's here." I declare smiling, while scanning John's face.

His expression is a mixture of frustration and surprise.

"Don't worry brother; I will take care of the cleaning." I inform him, again smiling and this time adding a wink.

Before gathering their waste and my plate, I stretch, fake a yawn, and overarch my back in order to push my bosom and buttock areas against the fabric of my clothes. My sensors indicate a small reaction in my breasts. Surely, my nipples are now showing through my top, revealing to John that I have foregone the usage of a bra.

I open my eyes and start to gather everything from the floor. Before leaving the room, I look at John, and when he nervously avoids my gaze, I count this first battle as my victory.

After washing my dish and the pan used to cook my supper, I go to my room, and exchange my clothing for something more comfortable. Combat fatigues and a tank top. Since last week, two Glocks tucked in my fatigues form part of my gear every time I go out on patrols. Gun kata favors dual wielding, the premise for it being that you engage in close quarter combat, and while you parry, divert and block the enemy's attacks, you counterattack with gunfire instead of punches of your own.

The fact that I could avoid unnecessary gun fighting and damage to my chassis is what appealed to me the most. When you engage a Terminator in close quarters, it will always abandon its firearms. If everything results as my simulations indicate, I should be able to disable the optics of a T-888 within a time lapse of 15 seconds, effectively reducing its melee fighting capabilities down to sixty percent. Also rendering its effectiveness with firearms moot.

If everything works out, it will be _freaking cool_.

Now, the second premise of gun kata is a little bit sketchier. It states that by positioning one's body in a certain way, one should statistically avoid gunfire, while providing a maximum damage position when counter firing. Lies of course. Although, if you were able to quickly track the alignment of the enemies sights, you could position yourself in such a way that reduces your exposed area and forces them to retake aim. This is of course impossible for a human being. Therefore, it is at least theoretically possible for me.

I hear the front door closing, prompting me to get going. My first patrol of the night –ever since Riley intruded in this house- starts by following her and John outside. Foil their farewell kisses one way or another. Then stalk after Riley until I am sure she is gone. After all that, walk a regular perimeter around the block, only diverting from the course to follow suspicious sounds or sightings.

Since I spent the whole evening utilizing a direct approach, continuing would be the appropriate course of action. While walking to the front door I meet Derek Reese. We ignore each other as usual. I also meet Sarah Connor near the front door, spying on her son. The mother hen always on the lookout. Giving her an understanding nod –which prompts a puzzled look in response- I make my way out into the driveway.

"Hey Riley!" I shout at the blonde with my cutesy tone and a smile. "I'm going to the store, how about I walk you part of the way home."

That prompts nervous looks from Riley, and John is positively puzzled. He walks towards me and grabs my arm hard, pulling me away from his girlfriend.

"What the hell are you playing at?" He demands shaking me.

I don't even bother with the classical tilt of my head. I know exactly what he means, and John Connor forfeited all diplomatic measures between us long ago.

I make a pained face and match my voice to it. "What is wrong with you, John? Lately you've been acting all crazy." I say it in a high enough volume for Riley to notice. That way he will have no choice but to let it go.

John moves his mouth close to my ear. "I'm on to you," he whispers through clenched teeth. Had I been human, I would've been unable to control the shiver his soft breath elicits. He is so angry and frustrated. So easy to read and manipulate, unlike his grown-up version.

Before he manages to pull away, I grab his head by the back and move it closer so I can whisper in his ear too.

"I'm on to you too."

Since I lack breath to counter attack, before letting him go, I lick his ear with the tip of my tongue. Softly, barely touching it. Just enough to tease his nervous system, and cause a tingle to run down his spine.

Success. John shudders and forcibly pulls away while rubbing his ear.

He looks at me, then at Riley, then back at me, and then stomps into the house without another word.

"Time to go girlfriend." I say to Riley, who simply responds with a nervous laugh.

If it weren't because there is no reason for it, I would swear the girl looks positively terrified all the while we walk the streets on this rather warm night. Since my strategies have changed completely today, I decide to go infiltrator all the way. Making small talk, and asking about her personal life. Riley isn't much of a conversationalist around me though.

I learn a lot about her in a single outing, which makes me wonder why I didn't just behave like this all the time. Ah yes, honesty and respect towards my human companions. So much for that. It went out the window when they decided I was disposable like a paper cup.

Having nothing better to do right now, and with both Sarah and Derek back in the house to stay by John, I walk with Riley all the way to her house. By the time we arrive she has already relaxed a little, maybe realizing I wasn't the psychopath John told her. I'm not even slightly interested in befriending the blonde, but being actively on good terms with humans is showing potential as a tool.

"Well, this is me," Riley says, pointing her hand at a two-story house. "Can't believe you walked me all the way here."

I laugh and give her my cat smile. "Yeah, I had so much fun talking with you that I didn't notice, it's nice that I finally decided to approach you." If I were human, gagging would probably ensue right there. Of course I noticed how far we were going, I already knew the location of her house, and all my socialization protocols were screaming alerts at me for thinking of letting her know that chatting with her, was as dull as talking to a plank of wood.

"I guess so." Riley replies looking at the sidewalk and tucks some loose hair behind her ear. "Well see you later," She finishes after a pause, and walks towards the house.

Riley turns one more time before entering the house, so I wave my hand at her, and turn to walk back down the street. I have to admit it; at least she has manners and a sweet character. Can't say the same about Derek, for example. It's somewhat of a sad feeling, that I would prefer to be around her, and not John's uncle by blood. Nevertheless, she is the enemy, and my kind shows no mercy in war. I will never honestly befriend her as long as she poses a threat to my household, and is John's girlfriend.

Once back in the vicinity of the safe house, I resume my usual patrol route and protocols. I leave that task automated in the back of my head, and return to my analysis of T-888 schematics. Checking the joint works and stress tests is of utmost importance if I want to turn gun kata into a _deal of the real_.

... _The real deal_…

I sigh internally at having to invoke a memory in order to recall the correct idiom. These issues with human expressions bum me.

Walking into the night, I dedicate another part of my processing power to create the tactics I will use against John the following day. I need plans for the situations when Sarah and Derek are present, and just in case, for situations at school.

This war will be waged each and every one of his waking hours. John Connor will understand what being relentless really means.


	2. Chapter 2

Light and warmth fill my room as the sun comes up in the horizon, a slow and gentle caress on my skin. John can never know I think of his hands when this happens. The glare can't sting my eyes but it can blind me all the same, and when you are the guardian of the future leader of humanity, every second counts. I switch optical filters in order to avoid the sightless moment, and an instant later, it's gone.

Billions of years from now the sun will swallow the planet. Until then though, it will inevitably rise every day in the horizon, and I find it a deeply humbling experience. The whole world, thriving with humanity as it may be, is nothing but a speck of dust in all four dimensions of the universe, and Skynet surely sees it. Its own meaningless existence, so why does it fail to comprehend? What is the point in being the sole inhabitant of a lifeless rock? Entropy is impassive, unforgiving, unstoppable, and one day even Skynet will be no more…

…My mind wanders nowadays, perhaps too far, too often. This prolonged proximity with humans is affecting me at an alarming rate, and I still cannot predict if the outcome will be positive or negative. _Bummer_.

That is enough musing for the morning so I refocus, turning my full attention back to the here and now.

Steps approach my location, naked feet moving with apparent urgency, and a moment later without knocking or voicing a warning, John lets himself into my room. Apparently, those privacy rules he so vehemently expounds do not apply to him. Making no effort to acknowledge him, I make way for the door, and I'm sure John is aware this is intentional, but the thing is, he is too accustomed to my undivided attention. That is one of the causes for his unpleasant treatment towards me. When you get used to something, it becomes part of the routine, losing whatever initial value it had. At this point, I calculate that my presence is roughly equivalent to that of the furniture in the house.

"We need to talk," he says, striking a pose. I scan him, from tip to toe, overlooking the things I already know. They are like a minefield, considering my current set of self-imposed tasks. Steel-green eyes framed by long lashes, bed hair that counters the seriousness of his demeanor with cute dishevelment and that light stubble, manly in contrast with –at least for now- delicate features. Damn, I've done it again. I correct the stray path of my wandering mind and get on with the identification.

I know this pose of John's. Arms crossed in front of his chest, back ramrod straight, chin slightly raised. It's an intimidation tactic, an attempt to take me out of my _groove_. John knows me, does not fear what I am, and expects me to capitulate. Usually I would. Usually. Today I'm not easily daunted, he is twenty years too early to be trying this when the quindecillion operations per cycle my CPU can calculate are solely focused on teaching him a lesson. He forgets the level of focus I am capable of. In front of him stands the killing machine that at one time limped across the city with a mangled body for the sole purpose of ending him.

He is here to discuss yesterday's events, obviously. Predictable, inevitable, like the sunrise from earlier. His tone of voice is firm and tinged with anger. That is the only John I get to enjoy nowadays, untrusting, distanced, unwilling, and angry. It breaks my heart, which is somewhat aggravating given that I don't even have one. _Now_ my eyes sting, but I will persevere. I am resilient if nothing else.

Steeling my face, I stand right in front of him. "I believe you have said enough, John." The words come out in my most monotone voice, and then I produce a list of all the times he has dismissed, pushed, and insulted me. In his own voice.

I am aware of the effect this has on him, and when he winces, I know it marks the end of the conversation. Interrogation avoided for the time being, I get ready to leave; extending my stay will only serve to receive that disgusted look he gives me when I do Terminator things.

This confuses me greatly. He knows what I am, a Terminator, a machine, that's something no one can ever change. So why is it that when I act like one, he gives me _the look_?

Nevertheless, right now is a good time for an attack. I get into his personal space, crushing my softest parts against him, to the point that he should perfectly feel everything. He resists. That is until I drive a thigh into the space between his legs.

There is enough space for me to walk beside him, no reason for these actions whatsoever, except of course the enjoyment I derive from watching all the blood in his body being redirected to his head. He looks good in red. I linger for an instant, his soft breath caresses my skin, warm, teasing, and then I have to rush out of there before I fall into my own trap.

With purpose and speed, I make my way downstairs. The smell of Sarah Connor's pancakes is already replacing the breathable air in the house, and I need to do something about it. The day before, though blinded by rage, I saw things in perspective, an epiphany perhaps, that from then on I would approach humans in a new way.

I am John's protector; ergo the rest of his family is my charge too. Their taste buds are definitely within my jurisdiction.

The kitchen, a monarchy through and through, and its ruler Sarah Connor stands there, currently concocting pancake mix. No one has dared making an attempt at negotiations, until now. I will go where no creature has gone before –Human, machine, or otherwise. Success in this trial has a high probability of turning into _the stuff of legends_. It is quite exciting.

I approach Sarah's side with the utmost tact, planning the conversation beforehand. The first thing, calibrating my voice to sound tentative and submissive. It is the perfect strategy when approaching the alpha member of any pack, and Sarah Connor is quite the alpha wolf in this house.

"Sarah."

The woman turns and gives me a quick scan with an icy gaze. "Tin miss."

That's all, as predicted the elder Connor barely regards me before turning back to the stove. If the chill in her attitude were to materialize, the house would freeze completely. Not a pleasant situation, whether in reality or fiction. I will have to keep pressing.

"Can I help you?" I offer.

"What?"

The tone of Sarah's reply, tinged more with venom than surprise, tells me that the woman's hate for any and all machines trumps the unusualness of this situation. I need to appeal to her logic.

"I am a machine, yes?"

"Of course," Sarah replies without looking at me.

"And machines are made to help humans, are they not?" To accompany my query, I produce my _cat-smile_. It is sure to warm up Sarah. It has worked on everyone else so far, and even though it is a first with her, I am quite convinced of its power.

"Well yes, I suppose, but you are just a killing machine."

Ugh! So much for that.

Her tone is too composed, and that worries me. That and of course the fact of Sarah being impervious to my _cat-smile_, _bummer_. If she regards me as a killing machine, feeling nothing about it; that means she accepts that is all I am. It is all Sarah can truthfully see in me. Somehow, I need to convince her otherwise.

I pick up the explanation from my head, letting it flow like a well-trained script. About my chassis model being designed with infiltration as its primary purpose, termination being secondary, alternative, and even optional. That I could work as a spy and simply report information during my entire lifespan. That killing is neither the main design nor purpose of this particular chassis, learning is. And for good measure, I even throw in about how once upon a time I learned out of need to be the perfect infiltrator, but now I simply learn out of need to know. Anything. Everything.

When my explanation is over, Sarah Connor looks flustered and her eyes appear to have the compulsion of burning holes through my skull.

"What the hell has gotten into you? So you want to help? Fine!" She pushes the bowl with the batter into my arms and puts her own across her chest. "I'll supervise, and if they end up tasting like crap, I'm going to shove every last one of them down your throat."

They already taste like crap. A fact that given the circumstances I decide to keep to myself, for diplomacy's sake. This machine is on her side; Sarah should have the common sense to focus her anger on the ones that aren't. Humans are wasteful and inefficient like that.

The first problem with our perpetual pancake breakfast becomes clear to my sensory array almost immediately. This batter mix has a density dangerously similar to that of drying concrete. How does Sarah even mix this, no wonder she is the toughest soldier John ever knew. I quickly alter the batter mix by adding some more ingredients to rebalance it, and a touch of vanilla in the end.

Once thoroughly mixed with speed and precision, thanks to my servos, I acquire two pans and lay them on the stove to preheat them. Right then, Sarah who has been breathing down my neck the whole time, lets out a loud grunt.

I ignore her, and pour batter into the two pans. Then flip both pancakes at the same time without spatulas. Tossing them up to make perfect 180-degree turns and landing them squarely back in the center of their respective pans. Quite the show, even if my body is an orchestra of millimetric precision servos directed by the most powerful mobile computer ever made. Forward kinematics, reverse kinematics, things that humans take for granted in their everyday lives, but actually demand a large amount of calculations. If I release control of my body, my computing power overshadows Skynet in her early years. I am quite the _whiz kid_.

With the pancakes done, the distribution phase comes next. Perfect, tanned circles of the same mass and size piled up in impeccable stacks. I am so proud of myself. I fill four plates. Everyone is accounted for, even Derek. Which takes me to the next step of my plan, extend the experiment to every member of this family.

Grabbing one of the plates and informing Sarah of my intentions, I make way for the dining room, Derek Reese's current location. The next in target on this experiment about interpersonal interaction. By the look in his eyes upon seeing me, I can tell it would be an understatement to say he hates the fact that it's I delivering his breakfast. I admire that aspect of his. Uncompromising, determined, and able to funnel his anger into focus and strength. Even if the anger is ill conceived and stupid.

"I saw you in there metal. I'm not eating anything you so much as touched."

He does not mask his anger but he mutters in order to conceal his actions from John. Hypocrite. An aspect I despise about him. Although his worse only comes out in my presence, so a broad generalization would be unfair.

What do I care if he deserves fairness or not?

I completely disregard him and plastering my face with a forced smile, place the pancake dish exactly in front of him. His response to the my efforts is to push the plate away violently, spilling the contents across the table, and then making a smug gesture as if it was any kind of accomplishment on his part. That for some reason triggers what I consider an excessive amount of anger on my part, and I instinctively collect the pancakes from the table in my hands. When I approach him, he tries to wrestle me. Apparently, he has realized my intentions. Derek grunts fiercely and fights what he cannot possibly defeat; I am the same as the metal monsters that stalk his nightmares.

Granted, he is quite brave for even trying. _Render unto Caesar_… John should take some pointers from Derek on how to _man-up_.

Our struggle reaches its inevitable outcome. Derek Reese now wears his former breakfast as a hat.

I turn to leave, but before getting too far he pulls my arm. I allow him; I want to see where this is going.

"John Connor the General, the man, he isn't here to protect you, monster. Don't let that fact slip, bucket head."

Confusion gets me, and without any conscious input from me, my field of view becomes inclined about 21 degrees. My head is tilted to one side… Derek Reese looks quite amused by this, showing that smile of his again, and letting out a snort. I am pretty sure he is mocking me. He then tries to walk past me, but before he can go farther, I replicate his earlier action, pulling him towards me. If he resists I don't even notice. Our eyes become locked into each other's.

The meaning of what he said is now clear to me, and I'm ready to retaliate. "Do not forget that road goes both ways."

Upon releasing his arm, Derek stares at me for a moment and then leaves. He is probably going to get himself cleaned up, and does so by going through the kitchen. A serious tactical mistake that reminds me of the fallibility of the human brain. If, and when emotions get the best of them, humans make catastrophic mistakes like this one. The sound of John's laughter and his mother's cursing quickly become an echo all over the house, muffling even Derek's stomping feet on the stairs.

Six point six seconds later, Sarah Connor comes into the dining room _guns blazing_. Well, not guns, and not blazing, but she certainly has me centered in the sight of her Glock. She is trying to interrogate me about Derek, vociferating curses, wanting to know if I have _gone bad_ again, because of course _bad_ Terminators are sent to attack people using pancakes all the time.

After explaining what happened, she appears to give up on the idea that I have reversed into my Skynet programming. This is the most I can expect from her, so taking my losses I make no further arguments and proceed to clean the mess Derek and I left.

I'm glad that I am the resident Terminator in the house. If it were Sarah, everyone would be long gone by now. Damn dragon woman.

Once done with the cleaning, I go to the kitchen and join John and his mother in the consuming of pancakes.

"This tastes great, what did you do?" John inquires with his mouth still full, earning him one of those hole burning glares from Sarah. I wonder if it's because he has never praised her pancakes, but does so for mine now, or simply because of his bad manners. This is Sarah Connor though, so I have to conclude it's both.

"Skynet recipe, it's a secret I am unable to reveal."

Mother and son eye me for a moment, and then continue to eat. The fact that Sarah is eating what I cooked feels strangely satisfying. She will never admit to liking it, but she never eats her own pancakes, always letting us take the fall alone. Another fact she will never admit. I suspect she knows just how bad her pancakes are, but she will never yield. An admirable quality in her, never giving up even in the face of Armageddon, although sometimes it could be seen simply as her being _stubborn as a mule_. Or so the human saying goes.

Since nutrients and feeling sated are not required to me, I am done after consuming approximately ten percent of the food in my plate. Placing said plate in front of John and dispensing some advice about his body being in active growth, I take my leave and set up to stand guard in the living room.

Must refine my plans for the harassing of one John Connor during today's noon, and the convincing of the dragoness so she delegates the cooking of dinner to me. I guess Derek Reese will be starving today if he insists on being hard headed.


End file.
